


a snake by the mirror

by just_peachyy



Category: Bleach
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, criminal boyfriends, folks its time for a mafia au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26049919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_peachyy/pseuds/just_peachyy
Summary: How lonely to be something that nothing wants to kill.- Jeremy RadinGin and Aizen, plotting, sharpening knives, smiling behind porcelain masks. Gin and Aizen in a grove at night, with a body at their feet.
Relationships: Aizen Sousuke/Ichimaru Gin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. humility

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to my aigin extravaganza! this one has been in the works for a looong time and I finally _finally_ finished and wanted to share. aigin is one of my favorite pairings to both love and hate, and they are so ridiculously fun to write for. i wanted to throw them into a mafia au because 1. the soul society is just questionable and 2. does it not suit them? does it not reek of tension and sharp teeth? best read with a pairing of dessa's album parts of speech, probably. 
> 
> beta-read by the ever lovely @[gxlden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gxlden/profile) who painstakingly corrected my shitty little grammar errors and beat the whole thing into shape. thank you!

Aizen tsks and presses a looped up tie to his chest. It's pale grey, and he pushes a tie clip at him too: there's a twinkling blue stone set into the gleaming metal, the color as cold as frostbite. 

Gin smiles, sanguine. "I thought you said grey makes me look washed out," he says lightly, but he takes the tie from him anyway. It slides through his fingers with the fluidity of some slick, expensive thing. He ties it quickly, affixing the clip and straightening it.

"I did, but only certain shades," Aizen says calmly, fixing his cuff links and adjusting his tie before brushing off a non-existent speck of dust from his waistcoat. He looks at Gin in the mirror and cocks a brow. "Ready?" 

"Always." Gin puts a bit more malice than usual into his smile, and as he follows him out to the car he can see a shadow of a smile on his lips too - but it's calm and smug, and something about it makes Gin want to hit Aizen. 

He smooths down his waistcoat and folds himself into the seat, opting to close the door a bit harder instead. 

The function - and that's what Gin will call it, it's not a party because a party is fun and has good music - is boring. There's no one interesting. Everyone looks like they've been born into money, walking around in their fancy clothes like it's a second skin and taking food and drinks from the waiters who meld into the background without a word of thanks. 

It makes him want to be sick. He acutely remembers being hungry.

He knows it's for face, and he knows it's to boost Aizen further up - but Gin wants nothing more than to go home and take this stupid waistcoat off and play with his cat on the balcony while Aizen makes calls left and right in Japanese, English, Spanish. 

He stifles a sigh as someone taps the mic for a speech. He lets himself zone out, eyes tracking over the other people in the spacious ballroom. It's all cold marble and granite, gleaming bartops and floors. He grimaces at the sight of the windows; curse them for being so clean and offering him glimpses of outside! He'd like nothing better than to go outside and step on that surely manicured lawn and muss the grass a bit.

He sticks a finger between his throat and his collar. He wants to ditch the tie clip too. It's like a mark - a collar, almost. Like a show or a label that marks him as Aizen’s. That bastard, Gin thinks poisonously, glaring at the set of shoulders ahead of him. He probably did it on purpose. 

Like he felt the weight of his gaze on him, Aizen turns around and gives a little smile. It doesn't reach his eyes. 

Later, Gin slips away to the bar and orders a drink. He slides off the tie clip and spears an olive on it, dropping it into the clear liquid. He smiles unnervingly at the wide-eyed bartender who watches him stir his drink with his tie clip until they look away with a jerk.

He can feel Aizen's eyes on his back, burning like a brand. He doesn't even have to look.

But two can play at that game, Gin thinks. 

**

Aizen's hand on his shoulder. Like the weight of a snake that the tour guide in Thailand draped over them, grinning as the snake coiled and tightened before loosening, its bright, intelligent green eyes locking with his own. Its tongue had flickered out too, and touched Gin's cheek.

He turns, a bit bad tempered and loose from drink. "What is it, Sosuke?" He asks, and the woman next to him smiles indulgently at his mock-whine.

"Time to go, Gin." Aizen says softly, that same schooled smile still on his face. The one that's supposed to fool everyone but Gin.

"Not ready to go home just yet, baby." Gin grins at the pretty lady and leans close, brushing his hand off his shoulder. The woman’s grin flinches at the term of endearment he slings at Aizen, and Gin feels a sticky sort of pleasure crawl up his throat. It’s all a game and he loves every second of it, and he especially likes winning, too. 

He can't see Aizen's face, but no matter. He leans forward and kisses the corner of the woman's mouth in a mock apology, and smiles blithely when she turns to chase his lips. 

"Gin," Aizen says again, curiously neutral. He wants to push and see him snap, but knowing him, Aizen could have died and rotted for a thousand years and still his bones wouldn't crack under pressure.

"Busy, Sosuke," Gin gets out, before the woman is sliding their lips together. He hates the taste of her waxy lipstick. She tastes like white wine, too. It's trashy, it's much too explicit for such a fine event, and best of all, it's to make Aizen squirm - if he was even capable of such a thing. 

"Gin," Aizen says, and Gin pulls away, sighing theatrically.

"Sorry, honey," Gin coos, tracing a finger along the woman's jawline. "My ride's here, and I'm not all set to drive myself home." 

She flutters long lashes at him. "See you around, Jin." Her eyes slide to Aizen's, comparing, evaluating, cool and steady before his level stare forces her to look away. 

The pull of Aizen's displeasure is magnetic. Gin bites on the inside of his cheek as they walk out of that small, shadowed area, shaded by lady palms and leafy plants all elegantly arranged to make it as private as possible. Gin had chosen it specially, to make Aizen feel like he had missed something. That Gin had been out of view, slipped out from under his gaze for a few precious moments. And he wasn't an exhibitionist, after all. He didn't want all these moneybags ogling him while he drove Aizen crazy - that was a private pleasure, for his eyes only.

The evening is delightfully cool, a break from the pressing, indolent heat of summer. Gin loosens his tie and sheds his jacket as soon as they turn out of view of the doors. Their car chirps in reply to the keys. Aizen's steps are sure and quick. Gin likes to think they are aggravated, but Aizen is not one to slip and show his cards that early. 

“Jin?" Aizen murmurs when they are in the car. He starts it and it purrs lowly to life. His hand comes down like a sentence onto Gin’s thigh, gripping loosely: a warning.

"Funny right? Gold and silver." Gin rolls his shoulders against the seat and sighs, rolling down the window to let in the cool summer wind. 

"Where's your tie clip?" Aizen says over the wind.

"Dunno,” Gin lies. It's in his breast pocket. He considered slipping it into the pocket of the bartender to give them a little scare, but decided against it. The stone looks like it's enough to buy something else, and he's been wanting to get Rangiku something.

Aizen's eyes flash once, almost imperceptibly, but Gin's been with the guy so long he can smell the irritation pouring off of him. Maybe not irritation - that's not the right word for it. Thrill of the hunt. Bloodlust, maybe.

He smiles just to himself, watching the curl of his lip in the mirror. It's all a game to them. Push and pull. 

Aizen's embroidered handkerchief lands in his lap. "Here."

"Hm? Whatever for?" Gin asks, picking it up by the corner as if it is something that he is reluctant to touch. It smells like expensive cologne. It smells like Aizen.

"That woman," Aizen's voice becomes dangerously soft. "Left her lipstick on you."

"Oh, she did?" Gin flips the passenger seat mirror down; a bright smear of true red at the corner of his mouth like a technicolor bruise. He dabs lightly at it with the handkerchief, and is displeased when it leaves the musky notes of Aizen's cologne lingering near his mouth. He folds it back up neatly. He leans over and slides his hand over Aizen's chest, finding his waistcoat and tucking the handkerchief back into the pocket. He lets his touch linger. He can feel his chest expand with a slow breath, the steady beat of his heart. 

The speedometer ticks up five. 

Drive the stake in further. Gin unlocks their door with clumsy hands, Aizen's presence bearing down on his back ever more. What the heck. He's feeling mean. It's easy to give in like this because the alcohol the woman bought him burns nice and heady at the back of his skull and in the pit of his stomach, lending an edge of courage to everything. Not that he needs to be brave to stand up to Aizen. You just need a sense of humor and some recklessness.

"Chico," Gin coos out over the apartment, and their white and black dappled cat comes trotting out of her room, mewing gently. She jumps up into his arms when he beckons and he sighs, burying his face into the nape of her neck. "How I missed you, Chico! It was so boring, Gin had no one to talk to!" 

Aizen brushes past him and disappears into his office. Gin smiles. He's always hated, uselessly, vainly, that Chico has loved Gin best. He always pretends not to mind but he can see right through him.

Gin lets Chico to the ground and goes to shower and change into better clothes, coming out into their living room scratching his belly and grabbing leftovers from the fridge. He sits on the sofa and feeds Chico small bites of tuna, flipping channels until he lands on a soap opera. He texts Rangiku aimlessly for a while, dodging questions and sending her pictures of Chico. 

There's the steady lull of Aizen's voice rising and falling in a familiar cadence - English. Gin picks out words here and there before deciding he doesn't care, and cuddles Chico when he finishes his tupperware of katsudon. What was all that money good for, anyway, he grumbles, pulling the carton of juice out of the fridge. Rich people ate like birds, Gin thought bitterly, like they were too good for hunger. Those tiny canapes wouldn't even be enough to feed a child.

"Right Chico? No one needs caviar and asparagus spread," Gin coos, returning to the couch and snuggling his cat. Chico purrs loudly in response.

Chico dozes in his arms and lets him pet her all he wants until he's on the verge of falling asleep too, right there on the sofa with the lights and the television still on. 

"Tired?" Aizen says as the door clicks open.

"Exhausted." Gin stirs, yawning. He lies down on the sofa and stretches out, moving Chico onto his stomach. She kneads there absently, purring, eyes slitted at Aizen. "I've never seen so many dollar signs in one room before, Sosuke. I hate it."

"Hm," Aizen says, and that's his laugh. Gin hides a smile and sighs. 

"Y'wanna get takeout? Those canapes don't really do much." He scratches Chico's back and neck, cooing. 

"I'm not hungry." Aizen replies, but he does get a bottle of wine from the cabinets. "Will you have a glass with me?" 

"No thanks. The lady paid for some," Gin says carelessly. She'd actually paid for gin - he's funny like that - and some whiskey too, just so he could try, but he hated the heavy burn down his throat. It tasted much too serious for him and reminded him too much of Aizen, and he had grimaced, to the woman's laughter. He can't even remember her name. How boring.

He hangs his head over the edge of the sofa and watches the line of Aizen’s shoulders under his still crisp white dress shirt. How does he do it? Rangiku has a couple theories that Aizen is just a cutting edge android of some kind. If you don't sweat or make mistakes or wrong movements then you don't crease things. They're funny, and he likes humoring her and playing into it by mentioning his cold skin, the glow of his eyes at night, but he knows the truth. Aizen's just a cold, power-hungry bastard who has a stick so far up his own ass it's coming out of his mouth. And Gin is intrigued and in it to figure him out.

Among other things.

Aizen walks closer. He sits beside Gin on the floor and drops a heavy hand onto Chico's back. She stops purring and looks at him, displeased, before curling her lip. 

"She doesn't like you much, does she?" Gin curls himself around Chico, putting his back to Aizen. Chico resumes purring, nuzzling into the space of Gin's stomach. "You have to be gentle." He takes Aizen's hand and places it gently on Chico's back, stroking down her back. She stops purring for a moment, but closes her eyes. Tolerating. Gin wants to praise her but he bites his lip.

"Well. Either way." Gin drops his hand. 

"Ha," Aizen says, and his hand drops to Gin's hip instead. Possessive. "Have I done something wrong, Gin?" 

That's a trick question. Gin sniffs. There's something rolling off of Aizen - blank, studied patience. He can do this all night.

"No, why do you ask?" He smiles, turning back to face him. 

"You've been acting childishly all night." Aizen says. His hand roams - touching Gin's shoulder, his upper arm, then his hair. Gin bares his throat. 

"Have I?" He replies.

Aizen's eyes shutter and his hand skims down to his throat, pushing the shirt away from his collar and leaning down to kiss - he bites. 

Gin laughs and sits up, disturbing Chico, who mewls plaintively and leaps out of the cradle of his body, heading for her room. 

"You're the one acting childish, Sosuke," Gin says, and he grips Aizen's hair and tilts his face up. His eyes are burning and his hand comes up to grip his wrist loosely, his other hand swirling the wine around in its glass lazily.

"Gin, Gin," Aizen purrs, and Gin knows he's in for a long night.

**

Gin gasps and falls back against the bed sheets, wrapping his arms around his pillow and letting loose a jaw-cracking yawn. A glance at the clock on the nightstand tells him it's past midnight.

Aizen sits on the edge of the bed, wiping his thighs down with a damp towel. 

He shifts his legs and wiggles under the blanket. "I'm sore as hell,” Gin sighs. "But it was good. As always." 

"Flattery won't get you anywhere, Gin." Aizen turns and smiles at him. This time, it's knowing - and satisfied, and something else. Gin raises an eyebrow but doesn't push, choosing instead to smile blithely and flop back against the pillows. 

"Gets you places all the time. People, too. And things. Wine, for example,” Gin says playfully, scratching at his stomach. "Listen, I'm not complaining, but you did almost put me through the wall."

"Did I?" Aizen says innocently, and he's getting up to go to the washroom, leaving the door open as he washes his hands. Meticulous as always, Gin thinks acerbically while he admires the sculpted muscles of Aizen's back, his ass, and his strong thighs. 

"It's rude to stare," Aizen says without looking up from the sink. Gin gives a wide smile but turns his face into the pillow. 

"How'd the little update go with the old man?" Gin asks instead. Yamamoto had been there too, although behind the scenes. Aizen had requested an audience without Gin's knowledge, going in alone - but he was foolish to think Gin wouldn't notice him gone from that spacious ballroom for half an hour. No one's presence sucked all the air out of the room. As soon as it had felt like he could breathe easier, Gin had become immediately suspicious.

The bed dips as Aizen sits on his side. He deposits a damp towel onto Gin's head. Gin snatches at it, and sits up to start cleaning up lazily.

"Fine. He's expecting another report next week." 

"Another?" He groans. "Yamamoto sure is a tyrant."

Aizen hums, and picks up a book that he's been working through. Statecraft and Strategy. It suits him. Trust Aizen to stay up and read right after sex. 

Gin yawns again. "Whatever. Soon we'll be done with him, right, Sosuke?" 

"Soon," Aizen confirms softly, dangerously, in that tone that tells him that he is plotting, reveling in seeing the gears of his plan click into place. There's the dry shuffle of a page being turned. "Next week, won't you wear something - hm, coral?" 

Gin smiles and turns over, burying his face into the pillow. Summer rain starts up against the window, a gentle whisper.

**

He dreams about days long gone. 

His first memory is of being alone, then of Rangiku's parents caring for him the way they would a stray. They had gone to the same school anyway, and they'd ended up near each other. It was like their strings got tangled and it had yanked them together the more they struggled.

Her parents were kind to him, they always were. They warmed up to him a bit, getting past his cool smile and his noh-mask expressions, and frequently invited him over for dinner. He lived alone in a small apartment not far from his school, received a monthly allowance from the foster system, and had resigned himself to his dull repetition of a life until he met Ran. She glowed. For the first time in a long while, he found someone he could cling to, like she had a light and a warmth that drew him, and he was something like a moth that depended on her. But she thought it was the other way around, which was strange; always hanging off of him, whining and ribbing - playfully, plaintively, though always with a grain of real hurt - that he'd left her and gone somewhere without her.

Truth was, he was kicking around town looking for easy jobs. He wasn't exactly a skilled worker, and he was off-putting. He didn't want to impose on the Matsumotos either. He wanted to pay them back in a way. Those days, he acutely remembers being hungry. He had no pocket money, and he was growing and hungry all the time and he had to stretch the government funds to satisfy a month's worth of food and utilities and school things. And it's not like he could rummage through the Matsumoto's fridge and take what he wanted.

He wasn't sure if Ran knew, but her parents were in debt to the gangs around the area. He always kept her away when he knew they'd come around, sniffing around the door like hounds after blood. He always knew when they would come - it was a tingling in the back of his skull, a dull ache in his gut. And he was always right. They would never come up to the door, but they would make their presence known. They'd smoke close enough to the windows in the alley beside the house so that the smoke would blow in through the window. He'd blow most of his savings on the arcade to entice her into staying out longer and out-wait whoever was lurking outside her door this time.

He'd heard her parents arguing fiercely one day, when he was dropping off some books for Ran, who was still at cram school. He knew he should leave, but his body wouldn't move - there was an alien curiosity, a deep, insidious desire to listen in and find out more, more.

Some group called the Seireitei. The fifth division, a man with dark hair and a perpetual calm smile whom he remembers seeing sometimes on the street - and Rangiku's father's voice dipped low in fear, and Gin heard the small sob from his wife and he fled, running until he was in front of the station. He crouched in the shade of some maple trees and caught his breath, head spinning.

They couldn't afford to have him around any longer, really. He was imposing, and badly too. He was probably hurting Ran in ways she didn't see.

He wakes up slowly, all the heaviness of sleep and exhaustion gone from his muscles. He sits up and looks out the window at the rain and the weak flickers of lightning. There's something cold and dense inside him, festering beside an iron-clad patience. A snake in wait, pupils narrowed and body still in the sand. He looks around at Aizen in the pale grey light of the room. His expression is calm and open in sleep.

Gin's fingers twitch. He traces his cheekbone, and caresses his hair. Aizen's lashes flutter, but he stays asleep.

"I'll eat you alive," Gin promises aloud. The storm rumbles peacefully in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chico is inspired by my friends cat simone (named after simone de beauvoir yes) who is the fattest and the sweetest cat I have ever had the pleasure of meeting in my life. she is just so cuddly and so affectionate and she has Bad People Radar and I trust her with my life. mwah simone I love you always


	2. pure love

Gin goes to see Rangiku as soon as he can, armed with tales of the latest party - a nest of rich people, seething, tripping over themselves to please the other - to regale her with. Also a bottle from Aizen's cabinet. It wouldn't be missed. Aizen didn't really like reds, anyway.

He's come to pick her up for her lunch break, and he's got one of the fancier cars, so why not make an event of it? People skirt around him nervously, glancing down uneasily at the loud shirt and the half smile on his face.

She's still working as a secretary for that too-young manager who only comes up to her shoulder, his white hair looking as if it's standing on end. Gin always forgets his name. Toshinobu? It's not that worth it anyways. Toshinobu always gives him suspicious looks whenever he comes by. In fact, through the glass walls of the upper offices, he catches Toshinobu glaring down at him. He gives a friendly wave, and spins his lighter over his knuckles. Toshinobu rolls his eyes and turns around.

"It's your clothes," Rangiku rolls her eyes when he whines about it again. He's leaning against the marble columns of the lobby of the firm, clicking a lighter on and off. It was a gift from Aizen - heavy, cool metal with the character for snake engraved into the side. His little tongue-in-cheek. 

"What's wrong with the way I dress?" Gin complains, opening the door for her. She rolls her eyes, and tries to look flatly unimpressed at the sleek car, turning the same stare onto his elaborate, flowered silk shirt. They were expensive! He and Grimmjow had gone out for a moment while they were on a business trip to Milan to pick them out.

"You _look_ like a gangster, Gin." She can't hide the impressed look on her face when she slides into the seat, all supple leather seats and shiny chrome. 

"And?" Gin jerks the car into the road to a couple horns and Rangiku's furrowed brow. He plucks at the collar of the shirt. It contrasts with his pale skin, making him look colder. More unapproachable. He hopes he makes Toshinobu's skin crawl. The engine roars as he drives towards the coast.

"If you had any tattoos that would be the real finisher,” she snarks, but she catches the forcibly neutral look on Gin's face and her jaw drops. "You did not."

"Uh," he grins a bit. He reaches and untucks his shirt from his belt, and lifts it up to his ribs - a flowering of snakes and chrysanthemums and lilies crawling up from his hips to his shoulder, curling around his back. There's a tiger too, very cleverly hidden in the foliage, a snake wreathed around its paws.

She sighs. "You're a lost cause, huh." 

"That's not nice!" He yelps, letting his shirt drop. She laughs, loud and carefree. The sharp corners of Gin's smile soften a bit. He's missed the sound, he's missed how he feels around her, he's missed _her_. 

The car purrs obediently under Gin's touch. He parks in a spot close to the door and swings around to open it for her. 

"After you, Madame,” he teases, and she giggles. 

"So what's been happening?" She asks later when they've sat down and ordered. Her eyes had bugged a little at the exorbitant prices but he'd waved it away, patting his pocket where his card was tucked away. Aizen hated it here because the waiters were too nosy. Or something.

"Mm, work as per usual. Drinks, patrol, report, party, blam -" he makes finger guns at her. "The usual."

She frowns. "Come on -"

"Joking, just joking, Ran. What about you? Toshinobu still picking up your slack?" He props his chin up on his hand.

"It's Toshirou. Hitsugaya Toshirou," she corrects him, but she's smiling a bit too. "And _no_ , I'm up for a raise, actually." 

"As if I'd believe that." He grins. She laughs, a bit too loud for the restaurant - but Gin likes it, she's bold, she breaks rules. 

Their food comes, and Gin picks at his fish for a while. Mostly he watches Rangiku eat and tells her about the tiny, inch-long canapes and the thin flutes of champagne, not even good for wetting your throat to speak or wash a speck of dust off your shoe, and then tells her about the extravagant dresses and the suits. She eats and laughs and replies at all the right times and it's just so easy with her, easy to melt right back into his old skin that he'd thought he had shed a long time ago. His accent comes out too, and it's like slipping into a familiar sweater.

The waiter packs his half eaten fish into a fancy paper box tied with ribbon and discreetly hands him the card machine, and he taps away the money and whisks Rangiku to the car to drive her back in time. 

"Got ya something too, Ran,” he says as they're driving back. 

"I swear, if it's more magazines -" 

He grins. "But better. Two things, in fact." 

The car swings into the parking lot. He reaches into the backseat and grabs the wrapped bottle of red, and a small box. He pushes them into her arms, excited. "Open them!"

She looks at him with fond exasperation, but her expression widens into surprise when she opens the box. 

"Alcohol, and -?"

"C'mon, open it." He nudges. 

She undoes the ribbon and slides the lid off; in a bed of satin, a thin gold chain lays coiled like a dormant snake. The fine gold links are interrupted by bigger, circular ones. 

"You like?" Gin asks. He'd pawned off the tie clip for a good sum, then zipped into a jewelry store to get something that he'd had his eye on. The clerk had eyed his stack of bills almost suspiciously before pasting on a wide smile. 

"Yes, _yes_ Gin, I like it. I love it. Thank you." She sounds a bit congested. Her hands are shaking as she lifts it out of the box. 

"Matches your hair and everything. Gold, so it won't ever rust or anything." He smooths her hair out of the way and lifts the necklace out of her hands. "May I?" 

She lifts her hair off the back of her neck and he fastens it, watching the links fall against her throat. He was right, he's garbage at clothes but he's intimately familiar with how metal looks against skin. It suits her perfectly, warm and glowing without washing her out, lying against her pale skin like a brand. It glitters and winks. 

"You look great, Ran. Stunner." He glances at his watch. "You're about to be late!" 

"Shit!" She startles and starts gathering her things. "Thank you Gin - for everything. Today was really nice." 

"Anything for you, Ran," Gin replies, giving her a small smile - a real one, and he knows that she knows because she dips down to kiss him on the cheek and then she's gone, and Gin looks into the rear view and catches a glimpse of Hitsugaya Toshirou looking at the car suspiciously. Their eyes meet in the mirror just as Gin's phone trills. He answers it, eyes still locked with the other man's frosty ones. 

"Gin."

"Something's happened. Ward 2. Backup is on their way and so is cleanup." Tousen's smooth, deep voice informs him. 

"Newbies, huh?" Gin smiles, putting the car into gear. Toshinobu's frigid eyes don't leave the car until Rangiku enters the lobby. Creep. Waiting for her like that. Watching him like that.

"Something of the sort. Quickly." The line goes dead as Gin pulls onto the street. He swerves around cars to honking and the screech of tires and drops his phone into the passenger seat, then feels under his own seat for his gun. He tucks it into the smooth crease of his blazer, patting it like he would pat Chico. 

He cranks up the radio. "Business as usual, huh?" He says to the small, bobbing cat figuring on the dash. The cat nods at him, eyes slitted. 

Gin smiles and drives. 

**

"What a mess," Gin sighs. He tucks his gun back into his coat. "I don't know how you deal with all these newbies all the time, Hallibel-san."

The tall blonde sighs minutely. "Clumsy, I admit." She's wiping blood off her knives. Her squad is behind her, cleaning up and bickering. Hallibel's eye twitches. There's the rip of packing tape and the rustle of plastic. 

"Do ya have a ride home?" The adrenaline always makes his accent seep out. He bites down on his cheek. "I could get Aizen to drop you off." 

"No need, Ichimaru," Hallibel says coolly. She looks around. The high collar of her coat hides the bottom half of her face. "I'll handle the rest here." 

"Hey, thanks for that. See you around," he says cheerfully. He walks away from her feeling vaguely like he's barely tiptoed past some sleeping, coiled animal, or at the least some powerful body of water. Like a river. Like he was standing on a sturdy dock, and the current was silent, but watching quietly.

They're close to the docks so he goes to the nearest one, sitting on the sun-warmed wood and letting the beams fall on his face. He closes his eyes. The barrel of the gun is still warm to the touch, and it lays in his pocket like a living thing. He thinks about Rangiku and wonders what she's doing by now. The sun is dipping low towards the horizon, so she must be on her way home. He wonders if he could convince Aizen to pick her up and drop her off at home, but remembers that Rangiku hates Aizen. 

He gusts out a sigh just as his ears pick up a familiar set of footsteps along the dock, far too close for comfort. He barely suppresses the urge to go for his gun, and instead turns his head and looks up at Aizen with a wide smile. 

"Heya, boss,” he says cheerfully, springing to his feet. 

"Long day?" Aizen folds his sunglasses into his breast pocket. Thin gold frames. No doubt more than Ran's paycheck for the month. 

"You could say that," Gin replies, and sticks his hands in his pockets. "Say, can we pick up some food on the way home? Feeling a bit peckish. I want to eat sea urchin." He'd tossed his takeaway fish from lunch earlier. No use eating before cleanup duty.

"Here's a deal, then. Behave at the meeting, and we can get all the sea urchin you want," Aizen replies smoothly, checking his watch. 

"Meeting?" 

"Yamamoto,” he says. Gin looks at the displeased set of his mouth - identical to his neutral expression, but with a flatter stare. He's not happy that Yamamoto has caught him off guard. He's dressed impeccably though, even some makeup to make his eyes look fierce and intimidating. To everyone, Aizen is untouchable - layers of chain mail and varnish, studded with barbed wire and all coated in a smooth layer of tight control. To Gin, his armor is nothing but a maze, a puzzle to be cracked. He knows his ins and outs, and probably knows Aizen better than anyone else. He wants to snap off all the pieces until Aizen is bare and raw. He wants to sink his teeth in. 

A snake can slip through those links, Gin thinks as he follows Aizen back to the car. If the snake is small, fast, and quiet enough. 

Aizen hands him a handkerchief, eyes on the road. Gin looks at him. 

"I wasn't kissing Hallibel, if that's what you're after," he says brightly, "she likes girls."

"Not that," he says. "You have blood on your face." 

Gin crooks an eyebrow and flips down the mirror. "Oh." There's a thin spray of blood along his cheek, too sparse to be visible from anywhere else but right beside him. It must have misted finely along his face when he'd shot one of them up close. He sighs and licks his finger before rubbing at the stains. He wipes them off with the handkerchief - really, who carries around handkerchiefs? - and studies the rust red smear with interest. 

"Say, you know they do fortune telling with bloodstains?" Gin says. They don't actually. He's just making it up for shits.

"I did not," Aizen says slowly. Gin doesn't think anyone would believe him if he told them that Aizen was slightly superstitious. 

"I'll read this one, then." He says. He turns the handkerchief, inspecting the stain. It's wiped off in a clean half crescent, rather like a sickle. He doesn't actually know how to read them. He thinks fortune telling is a bunch of dog shit, anyway. 

"Hmm," he stalls, tongue between his teeth. He squints. "Success - in the abundant sense, something you've been wanting. But also danger, and death. A risk. Shaped like a sickle, see." 

Aizen glances at the stain. His eyes are bright. Gin hides a smile. 

**

Eventually, it had gotten to be too much. They were on the fringes of town, and petty crime went unnoticed enough. The police didn't like to interfere too much; they knew that the area was backed and owned by Yamamoto and his fifth division.

That warning itch in the back of his skull had been bothering him all day. He picks Rangiku up from her classroom and they walk towards the house. He suggests the arcade, but she seems distracted. Not distracted enough - she picks up on his disquiet and squints, poking at him and asking loudly. He laughs stiltedly and pushes her away. In an effort at restoring normalcy, they buy ice cream from the store and eat on the curb in front of the store, Gin's sickeningly sweet popsicle melting absently onto his fingers, then the concrete. There's a wheeze of a siren as an ambulance rushes past. They watch it idly.

Gin gives Ran the rest of his popsicle and she snaps it up.

"Wait," Gin says slowly, and he looks up at the late autumn sky. A weak chill is descending in preparation for winter, and he's seen kids with their scarves out already.

There's a dirty streak of smoke against the sky. Gin stands up abruptly, jostling Rangiku. The itch has grown stronger, and he can feel the beginnings of a headache starting to creep up on him. 

"Ran," he says, and pulls her up by the hand. "We gotta go, we have to go home."

Home? 

"What do you mean?" She frowns, but stands up nonetheless.

Gin points at the smoke, then the road where the ambulance passed by. They look at each other for a moment before making a break for their street. The howling in his skull grows louder, a warning, there's danger, there's danger, echoing the keen of the ambulance, but Gin ignores it and runs harder.

They've set up barriers already to stop people from approaching the scene, and there are ambulances and one police car there to take down names and interview people. Does it usually happen like that? The fire's been put out, and all that's left is gently smoldering wreckage. Gin approaches the tape as if in a trance. He clambers over the plastic barriers and hears Rangiku sobbing behind him, her breaths tripping and catching in her throat. He hears it from far away. He shoves aside the firefighter that nears him to hold him back, and his voice sounds so far away. He can't understand. He won't.

The Matsumoto's small house is burnt almost completely to a crisp, the skeletal frame of the house the only thing left standing. There's a small crowd in front of the barriers, the disquieting, all-encompassing murmur of conversation a buzzing background for Gin's thoughts. He looks at the ash that comes up to his shoes. He looks inside the house, struggling out of the firefighter's arms. The fridge is the only identifiable thing on the first floor. Most of the things from the second floor have fallen through, timber and floorboards in splinters and ashes everywhere.

"Matusmoto-san," Gin says slowly. He turns back to the firefighter, taking out his phone with cold hands. His fingers stumble across the screen and he dials Matsumoto-san's number. "Where are -"

The firefighter twitches. Gin follows his eyes to the ambulance, and he walks over as if in a trance. A paramedic is saying something frantically, shaking his head and holding his hands up to stop Gin from walking closer, looking almost afraid but most certainly looking tired. What is he hiding? Gin feels like he is doing something wrong. The paramedic's fear makes him feel like some predator cornering its prey. He's finally pulled away by Rangiku, whose gentle touch and tear streaked cheeks makes him stop in his tracks. His insides curdle with dread at her tears, and he touches his own cheeks to find they're dry as bone.

She seems to understand something he doesn't. Her eyes are hollow and wet. There is a team of paramedics and firefighters pulling something from the wreckage.

Gin leans over and vomits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love. ... i LOVE rangiku ;-;


	3. danger

Yamamoto and his circle meet at a traditional Japanese home, complete with finely polished engawa all around the house and an immaculate rock garden no one is allowed to step into. He hosts meetings there under the guise of tea ceremonies, and everyone knows not to decline when the Boss invites you for tea. 

It's jasmine today. Gin has his legs folded politely underneath him, and sips at his tea. There are sweet rice cakes too, sitting enticingly close to his right hand. He still has the bloody handkerchief tucked into his pocket. He doesn't touch any of it. You're not supposed to eat in the master's house. Something like not being able to leave the underworld if you eat there. Fairy realms. The like.

Yamamoto and Aizen speak their own language. One that's all poetry and politeness, but the barbs are hiding between their teeth and the lines. Yamamoto is much more gruff and blunt with his words, at ease from being in his domain, but Aizen plays just as well, fielding questions and answering calmly, sharp brown eyes glittering in the sparse grey light of the rainy day. Gin doesn't have to listen, but he is there to sit respectfully behind his squad leader and pretend to be listening. 

This would be hard for anyone else, but speaking curved and twisted words is right up Aizen's alley. He has more of a snake tongue than Gin. He speaks honeyed words when he has to, and they would put anyone to sleep - not because they're boring, but because they're hypnotic. Gin likes to lurch dizzyingly between deflection and jaunty, brusque honesty. He just speaks his mind and hopes for the best, and it works out most of the time. No use trying to keep track of his lies anyway.

He's directly across from Sasakibe, Yamamoto's own second in command. His sharp grey eyes look at Gin almost suspiciously. He can understand what Yamamoto and Aizen are saying, and Gin can guess a little at the conversation with the help of Sasakibe's microexpressions. 

Clumsy, real clumsy of the head honcho to have a leaky right hand man. It'll get you killed, old man, Gin thinks. There's a twinge travelling up his leg from being still for so long but he sits through it, watching Sasakibe. His mustache is severe and reminds him of Yamamoto's own. He's transparent. His love for his kumicho borders on idolatry.

The conversation lulls and Yamamoto comments on the weather through the open screen doors. The sky is drawn and pale, a dreary grey. 

"Lovely. Your hydrangeas are flourishing." Aizen replies warmly. It looks like the right answer, if Yamamoto's usual stony expression twitching is anything to tell by. Gin doesn't even know what hydrangeas look like. 

For a while, there is only the sound of tea being sipped, the hollow beat of the bamboo spout falling back against its resting stone. The dry scent of the tatami rises up. Sasakibe tilts his chin up at Gin, and Gin maintains his polite, unnerving smile.

**

Gin stretches his legs out in the car and sighs explosively in relief at being out of that prison-like room. "It's stifling in there," he says to Aizen, loosening his tie.

"Isn't it?" Aizen answers smoothly. He loosens his tie and rakes a hand through his hair. "It's always too hot in that room."

Gin shoots him a glance. There are the beginnings of a thin sheen of sweat at his temples. The corners of his eyes are tight. He smiles at the expression - a rare one, only something that Yamamoto can put on his face. Strain. He leans over into Aizen's space and turns his face towards him, taking in his fierce, sharpened eyes and his vacant expression as he tries to collect himself. Cracks in his armor. Gin relishes it and kisses him, and it tastes all the sweeter because of it. Aizen kisses back with a strange ferocity, and he likes the loss of control and strokes down his chest to his stomach, sliding the dress shirt out of where it's tucked seamlessly into his pants and sliding his hand under it to feel his stomach.

He thinks he likes standing on equal ground with the old man. Gin feels around the back of his neck, sliding his fingers up into carefully styled hair and mussing it. The skin of his neck is hot. He thumbs over the pulsing vein there, thinking of the scalding throb of blood under his skin. It's the rush of exerting his authority. Of being able to face Yamamoto and speak to him on equal terms, because he thinks that the old man fears him.

Maybe he does. Either way. It's the power that drives him up the wall. Gin slides the belt out of its buckle and undoes his pants, feeling Aizen's heavy gaze on his face.

"Heya boss, you're really worked up, huh?" He grins. He wraps his hand around his half-hard shaft and pumps once, feeling it twitch heavily in his palm as it fills out. He licks broadly over the tip, and Aizen groans softly. He sucks at the head before taking it down all the way in a smooth motion.

Aizen's fingers fist in his hair, raking through the fine strands with recklessness. It stings, and Gin glares up at him. He runs his teeth along the bottom and Aizen growls, a hand falling to his neck in warning.

Gin keeps his hand around the inches he can't fit inside and works them firmly with his fingers, then pulls back to wet his lips on the tip again. His breathing is awfully loud in the car. He looks up at him and relishes the way his pupils are dilated, his usually sharp brown eyes wide and slightly hazy. His mouth trembles, his lips wanting so badly to part on a snarl, a moan, a sigh. His hair is mussed in the back from Gin's wandering fingers, and the disheveled look suits him. Or rather, it's like seeing a tiger sleeping - caught off guard, vulnerable, and easy. A thrill of arousal sears through him like a bolt of lightning and he gasps on Aizen's cock.

He forces his cock down as far as it can go until his throat tingles in warning with his gag reflex. Aizen looks at him and raises an eyebrow before tightening his grip on his hair and forcing him back up and off him. Gin gasps in a breath, a thick line of drool dropping slow, filthy, to meet the head of his cock.

"Gin," Aizen says, and his voice is like the fall of a gavel. Gin smirks and licks the tip of his cock again, dragging in a breath before Aizen eases his head down. He works his throat muscles and closes his eyes, going a bit slack to let Aizen have his way. That'll get him. Aizen makes a low growling noise and tightens his grip in Gin's hair and fucks up into his mouth.

Gin reaches down and touches himself through his pants, palming at himself clumsily. Aizen's pace stutters and he groans deep in his throat as he comes down Gin's.

The hot, wet slide of it is fucking filthy. Gin grimaces slightly, but pulls off his cock and swallows some before deciding halfway that he hates it. He reaches for the window controls and rolls it down, leaning up to spit it out onto the raked stones of Yamamoto's driveway.

Aizen lets out a low laugh. He's breathless. He slumps against the seat and watches Gin as he arranges his clothes again. His ribs are sore where the console was digging into them.

"Think ya owe me something, Sosuke," Gin smiles. Aizen reaches over, appraising, and undoes his belt and pants, palms him, stroking him through his briefs. It's short and dirty, Aizen mouthing along his jaw as he strokes tight and hot. Everything about it is so fucking controlled and so like Aizen, biting and discerning, like being under the attention of a single, blinding star. He doesn't let up and soon Gin is writhing and coming messily into his handkerchief with a long, trembling moan.

He catches his breath. "Y'know something, Sosuke? I was talking about the sea urchin. I think I've been playing pretty nice. More than."

There's a shadow of a smirk on Aizen's face. The car growls before it peels out of the compound spitting gravel, towards the shopping district.

**

There's a strange moment of limbo where no one approaches them, and it is deeply disconcerting. The police come to them for a statement, but nothing else happens for about a month or so. Shouldn't there be someone from some organization of the government to see if the one orphan is doing alright? Rangiku is quiet with grief. She's moved into Gin's small apartment, but it's not enough space for the two of them. Her parents' deaths have made the air clogged with something noxious and choking, something like distrust: maybe Rangiku knows that Gin is hiding something. Maybe she knows that he isn't telling her the whole truth.

He goes back to the site of the fire - he can't think about it as the house anymore, or the Matsumotos' - looking for something. He doesn't know exactly what, but his instincts tell him that there was something strange that day. His memory is strange. The firefighter's face had blurred into a haze, but other things - the charred remains of the house, the footprints in the ash - stand out in crystalline detail, as if cut from diamonds.

Something is strange. He touches the lamp post and stares at the fliers without reading them. He retraces his steps, ignoring the worried glances of the neighbors on the street, or watching from the windows. He can feel eyes resting on him.

He approached the barriers like this - detached from his own body, pulled forward by the scent of burnt wood and charred metal. He climbed over them and met the resistance of the firefighter's body. He could hear Rangiku's sobs behind him. He asked about the Matsumotos. Rangiku looked at him with such sorrow in her eyes it gutted him and he looked past her and he saw and he vomited. When he looked up, his eyes swimming in tears, he saw a vague form standing apart from the crowd.

Beside the lamp post. He wiped his eyes and Ran's hand was on his shoulder and her voice in his ear asking something but he had straightened and looked at the man dead on. He was wearing a suit in the middle of the day, when the salarymen were all still at work. His face was not open and worried and curious as he stared at the wreckage - but rather, something satisfied and assured.

Their eyes met over the barriers. Something was deeply wrong.

Gin touches the lamp post again.

If the man had anything to do with it, his brain reasoned, and it was only a blind shot in the dark, there would be no reason for him to come back to the scene of the crime.

But it wasn't a shot in the dark, a quiet voice replies at the back of his mind. Gin was sure of it. It was related to the Seireitei, to the Matsumotos' debt, and to the man that stood there. There was no doubt to him. If Rangiku asked him to explain he would never be able to. This was something he felt - something that he couldn't rationalize.

If he had burned the house down with the Matsumotos still inside; if he had been the one to kill and burn and tear something apart, he would never dare come back to the scene of the crime, especially dressed like that. He had no motive for such a huge crime. There were three things that Gin knew for sure: that the man was driven by vengeance or greed, that he had set the fire and killed them, and that he considered himself to be invincible.

How do you kill someone over debt? Could they really have owed that much? Gin frowns and walks to the train station for something to do. He could have asked around the neighborhood about the man, but it's likely that no one would want to talk. Had anyone even noticed him on the periphery, with the ambulances and the smoldering wreckage taking up their attention? In that situation, the man had melted right into the background; an illusion only Gin could see.

He picks a map of the area from the information desk, and sits on the curb. He unfolds the map on his knees and surveys it, not entirely sure what he's looking for. Grey areas in police control? That seems too vague and hard to test. He turns ideas over and over in his mind, pondering, sliding fingers over the problem in search of seams. There's nothing that he can find, at least for now. Frustrated, he balls up the map and crumples it into his pocket and walks home.

That familiar tug in his gut, one that he hasn't felt in a long time. A month, to be exact. There's a car he doesn't recognize in the lot of his building, so he creeps around and takes the back entrance. He takes the stairs, thighs burning, and stops at his landing. He can hear men conversing outside in the hall.

Ran's still at cram school, he thinks slowly. He pushes the door open and steps out into the hallway and the men fall silent. There's three of them - a man with dark glasses over his eyes, mouth set in a displeased line; another with wavy, unkempt brown hair and strangely pale blue eyes, slouched against the wall, and the last one, the one that draws his eyes. A restrained magnetism pours off of him and Gin's hackles almost immediately rise. A dozing beast. No - a still one, one that was hunting. Waiting in the bush with lazy eyes.

He has doe-brown eyes that stare almost through him from behind a pair of glasses, and his brown hair is carefully swept into order. His suit is pressed and spotless, and Gin swallows a bit. The glasses do nothing to dull the effect of his eyes. Some people may have been lured into a false sense of security, but Gin knows better. He knows better than to show fear in front of him.

Gin can't shake. He's as cold as a snake, he reminds himself. They're just some men. Nothing fazes him. He'll swallow them whole.

"Can I help you?" He asks, voice steady. He takes out his keys.

"You live here?" The slouched man says, straightening up.

"Yes," he shrugs, putting on a bit of a tired tone. "If you're here to rob me, you're out of luck. I'm a college student, I don't have much." That was a lie. He had his and Ran's savings tucked in a shoebox and crammed in the bathroom sink cabinet, and he was supposed to take entrance exams this year, the allure of which was growing dimmer and dimmer every passing week.

"We're not here to rob you. We only want to talk." The man in the dark glasses says quietly.

"All three of you?" Gin smiles a bit. "I'm popular today."

"Will you invite us inside?" The last one says kindly. He even smiles, all warm and no edges. "We apologize for the abruptness of it."

"Heya, I don't even know you guys. What are you, yakuza?" Gin says lightly, but the slouched man straightens a bit, his mouth quirked down in displeasure.

"That easy, huh." He says flatly, examining him with bored eyes. He shifts, lounging against the wall. His jacket shifts, and Gin glimpses the dull gleam of a well worn gun in a shoulder holster. "Come on, kid, let us in. I gotta pick up my kid after this."

Gin's heart jumps into his throat. He knows he's in the corner now - if he even steps out of line he'll likely be killed and then Rangiku will have to be on her own and he can't do that to her, not when she's just lost her parents. His hands are cold and bloodless as he walks closer to them to get to the door. He unlocks it slowly and holds it open for them.

The apartment is even smaller with them inside. Gin is herded towards the window, farthest from the door. He narrows his eyes but keeps the slight smile on his face. 

"Do you know about the fire down the street, near the station?" The leader - and he can't be anything but the leader - says calmly, taking a seat in the one good chair at the small table. He takes off his glove finger by finger. His two men stand at his sides.

"Yeah," Gin says, allowing grief to bleed into his voice.

"The Matsumotos stole from us." He replies simply, offering an oblique explanation.

Gin’s head snaps up. 

"My name is Aizen Sosuke. I know your name, Ichimaru Gin, and the name of the girl who lives here with you. Matsumoto Rangiku. We're not very happy with having loose ends."

"Loose -?"

"So I've come here with a deal." Aizen leans back and folds his hands together on his knee. "Give me the girl, and I'll leave you alone for the rest of your days."

They stare at each other for a moment - a disarming honey brown on icy blue, and the atmosphere in the room grows cooler and cooler and the walls seem to press in. Gin’s thoughts are swirling. He's going to say no. He can't give up Rangiku, do they think he's stupid? Weak? He'd do anything to keep her safe. Seeing her cry was one of the worst things to happen to him.

"Can't," Gin finally says, clipped and brisk. He feels like he's looked into a bottomless well to see a vast fall look back up at him. It makes him giddy with adrenaline. "She's all I got. Can't just give her away." His insides are curling with dread and disgust. What would they do to Ran if they got her?

The slouching man snorts, but it breaks the icy mood of the room easily. "Kids' got guts, Aizen-san." He drawls.

Aizen's smile is humorless and cutting. "You're right, Starrk. Funny, too." He stands up and circles round to Gin's back. He can tell he's looking out the window at the dingy street, the almost claustrophobic proximity of the next building over. "Then how about this one, Gin."

 _Don't throw my name around like that_ , Gin almost bites out. The hairs on the back of his neck are standing up, Aizen's presence trailing icy claws down his back.

"How about you come work for me. And you have my word that I or my colleagues won't lay a single hand on her."

Anger almost threatens to blind him. This son of a bitch. Waltzes into his home and sits in his good chair and steps on the small rug that Rangiku picked out from the thrift store with his shoes that looked more expensive than his entire kitchen and told him to come work for him and offers him a brainless, dead end bargain.

"I hate to threaten," Aizen continues, mild. "But the fact of the matter is that no one came to see you this whole time - a month, has it been that long already? - because I warned against it. I was going to flush you out."

Power. Money. Gin grits his teeth. So the authorities - shitty as they were - had stayed away at Aizen's word. They'd been surviving off of Gin's monthly stipend and the meager part time jobs split between the two of them for a month because of him. He had killed Ran's parents and wanted to play. He made Rangiku cry in front of him and at night and they were alone because of him.

Gin was going to kill him. He was going to eat him alive.

The reassurance - because it was more than a promise, it was something that he was so sure of, something that he couldn't rationalize, because he was a creature of instinct after all - rang so deep in his bones that he breathed out all his fear in a noxious cloud and his head was clear and he could see all the steps ahead. Something clear and distilled filled him to the brim. It was flammable, and burned to swallow, but it gave him strength.

"How old are ya, Aizen-san?" Gin asks slowly. His accent is coming out.

Aizen smiles. It does not reach his eyes. "Why, I'll be turning 25 this year. And you?"

"Nineteen. Got into school a year late. But you already knew that, right, Aizen-san?" Gin snarks. Starrk huffs a quiet laugh from where he leans against the counter.

"You're right, Gin. But why did you ask?"

"Just wanted to know," he shrugs a bit, "just wanted to see how young you were. I'm not too young to start, am I?"

Aizen's smile does reach his eyes this time, but it's cold and cruel and overbearing. "Of course not."

"And - heya, one last question, okay? Promise to answer honestly." Gin turns around to face him, and Aizen's face is shadowed, his form backlit by the window.

"Promise."

"Listen," he lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "did the Matsumotos - did all they do was steal from ya?"

"More or less." Aizen's eyes narrow in a spurious smile. "It was a question of money and trust, and we take both very seriously."

"That's the truth?"

"I swear it." 

Gin straightens and puts on his best unnerving noh-mask smile. "Then you got yourself a new hire, boss."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can explain, it's - *knocks over glass of water and runs*


	4. sacrifice

Gin peers curiously into the vats of writhing fish, squid, octopus. He smiles at the glass walls of the aquarium for sea urchins, stepping back from the lightly splashing water.

"That one," Gin points at a big one, then looks up at the old woman running the stand. Aizen nods, and handles the money and accepts the bag as Gin crouches in front of the flounder tank.

"Say, did you say that I should wear coral next time?" Gin sways close, dodging around a kid rushing by. He stops in front of a small shop and plucks aimlessly through the hangers. The owner gives him a respectful bow, and falters only slightly at their attire. They probably look like yakuza, don't they? Gin smiles a bit at the thought and shifts so that the crease of his jacket hides the bulge of his gun.

"Coral, or I was thinking of a deep plum." Aizen says, joining Gin at the racks and casting a detached look at the shirts.

"I'll need a new tie, huh boss?" Gin nods to the shop owner, who smiles back weakly and bows them out.

"I'll pick one up. Maybe something else too." Aizen muses. He looks at him with an appraising eye, lifting a brow. Another tie clip? Cuff links maybe? Gin hums in response and follows him back to the car.  
He wakes up the next day near lunchtime and finds some bags on the desk, and he opens them, yawning. Chico jumps into his lap and purrs as he unwraps a pair of glinting cuff links and a new tie. A deep charcoal grey. He hums, and loops it around Chico and sends a picture of it to Rangiku.

_Another rich people function coming up?_

Gin smirks. Nothing escapes her. Sosuke's treating me. It's a trade.

_Trade?_

_He chooses the colors and I'll choose the music on the way there and back._

Rangiku texts back some laughing emojis. Gin smiles a bit and takes out his gun, disassembling it and cleaning it meticulously. Chico joins him and dozes next to him while he hums and cleans.

He'll take his special one - his favorite, his oldest one, with the slightly worn grip and the shiny patch on the otherwise matte handle from being held. He's scratched characters into it - a tradition of Yamamoto's Seireitei group to name their guns, or whatever weapons they use. He did it with the butterfly knife that he borrowed from Grimmjow, leaning up against the wall of some dingy bar with Izuru standing nervously beside him.

_Kamishini no Yari._

He has a strange feeling about the upcoming event. He wants his oldest gun with him if he's going to go into it. That familiar prickling along the back of his neck, the knowledge that something will happen, for better or for worse.

He feels as if vengeance is close enough to taste. It tastes bitter and smells like blood and the acrid mist of gunpowder. He smiles and strokes the barrel of his gun.

**

Ran cries when he tells her, and he can't bring himself to hold her because he feels corrupted. He doesn't want to pass it to her. This is the last time, he promises himself, the last time that he'll make her cry like that. He apologizes, and holds her hand.

He negotiated with Aizen until he got his word that Rangiku would be looked after by someone other than people from his division, and that same week a woman began dropping by with friendly smiles and food and money. Ran moved out, Gin got word that his files with the foster system were destroyed, and he promised that he would always come see her and she seemed placated.

"I'll make sure you never cry again, Ran," Gin promises, and gives her a genuine, bracing smile. She holds his hand and looks at him with fierce, burning eyes, and makes him promise. 

"I swear." He says, and leaves.

There's a small swearing-in ceremony where they drink sake poured for each other with drops of their blood mixed in. Aizen's cool eyes survey him from over the rim of the cup, and Gin stares right back, putting it down after emptying it and licking a stray drop off his lip. Aizen betrays none of his bemusement save for the twitch of his mouth, and Gin gives him a wide grin. Sasakibe is there, and he coughs a little in disapproval.

Gin climbs the ranks easily, and it seems like he has a gift for it. He even grows to like the job a little. He doesn't mind the people around him, that's where he meets Izuru and Hinamori and some of the other kids, all around his age. It looks like Aizen is taking a fascination with how fast he's growing because Gin sees him on the periphery of the gun range, or the practice room with the targets studded with knives.

There's a passing season where he is partnered with Izuru as his junior, and the kid follows nervously in his shadow. Gin chose him, after all, because he could see that raw steel behind the tempered meekness in his eyes. There would be a moment when Izuru broke, and it would reveal him to be someone strong. Gin wanted to have a hand in it, and he wanted to see it too. Is this what Aizen feels like?

All the while, Gin is observing and learning. Starrk is lazy and doting only with his daughter Lilynette, Hallibel is diligent and proud but gentle with her smaller group, and Grimmjow's temper is explosive but he can be surprisingly noble. Tousen is quiet and loyal to Aizen, snapping only with disrespectful and incompetent subordinates. Gin likes to mess around with him the most.

Aizen however, is a whole different story. Gin knows that putting a bullet between his eyes won't be easy. The man has his own team guarding him most of the time, and he has strict measures in place to stop anyone from approaching him with a weapon. He's deadly enough on his own, but he rarely draws his gun.

Gin can respect that. He's diligent and vigilant. Men have been killed for much less.

But his personality - he just seems like a compulsive liar, narcissist, sociopath. It takes a year for him to learn his one goal, and that is to take over Yamamoto's spot and overturn the Seireitei into his own vision of what it should be. Foreign partnerships. Replace Central 46 - a bunch of doddering fools, Grimmjow quotes in his skit of Aizen's small rant - and centralize his own power.

He's in it for the long run. No plan ever hatched itself and carried itself out overnight. He needs to get close, to be able to reach out and dig his fingernails into the seams of his armor. Pry away metal plates and expose him to the sun and his fangs.

Then, he takes a knife for Aizen. It was really a stupid mistake and he had let the man get too close, a bright shock of orange hair that he wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon, but he had been distracted by the crack of a gun going off to see him rush for him. Of course, it's expected that his team take knives and bullets for their boss, but Aizen promotes him to right hand, knocking Tousen aside as easily as a toy. But Tousen isn't bitter. He trusts Aizen blindly (bad joke, made in bad taste) and accepts it with little protest. Maybe he knows how competent Gin is. He's one of the fastest draws and the best shot in the fifth division, and almost on par with Starrk in terms of contests and challenges.

"It's a matter of trust, Gin." Aizen tells him, chin propped on his hand. He looks up from his novel. "Can I trust you?"

"Course you can, boss!" Gin smiles a bit. He's 21 now and his name has made the rounds of the divisions. People avoid his eyes at meetings. He likes the thought of being feared and known. Hyapponzashi. What a stupid name! He doesn't even carry a sword, only one of Grimmjow's stolen butterfly knives.

"The reason I promoted you was because of trust. I thought for sure that you were here for revenge. For yourself and your girl. No one bleeds out in a hangar for their own sake. And you could have well gotten out of the way." His eyes are cold and appraising, like he's surveying a jewel. "You're a subversion, Gin. And I knew I could trust you then."

Gin smiles, as cold as a snake. A new skin, just for him. A new hideaway, just for him. All the while, the rings in Aizen's fortress and chain mail shift slightly, the links parting just enough to show light shining through, and Gin can almost see the path ahead of him.

"I look forward to working with you, boss."

**

Aizen is pulling out all the stops today. It's a special occasion after all, and Gin humors him. He hates wine, but takes the glass that Aizen pours him. It's a bitter red, reminding him of raw meat and blood spilled. He hides a grimace as he swallows a mouthful after toasting: to success, Aizen says smoothly, eyes never leaving Gin's. 

He gets dressed meticulously, tucking the gun into his shoulder holster with care. He dresses slowly, watching himself in the mirror out of the corner of his eye. Aizen is doing his makeup in the vanity, the lights painfully bright. Gin can see him in the vanity's mirror, half in shadow. As he's fixing his tie, Aizen calls him over.

"You look tired." He says, and beckons. Gin leans down, and Aizen pats something wet and creamy under his eyes, and taps the area gently with his ring finger. "There." He says, and hands him a mirror and goes back to his own makeup. 

Gin looks at the absence of eye bags under bright blue eyes. Cold and staring. He grins. "Thanks, Boss."  
Aizen makes a non-committal hum, swirling a brush through a palette. 

Gin approaches the closet and takes out the pressed and dry cleaned suit jacket, double breasted and tailored for him. Must have cost a pretty penny, he thinks as he rubs his fingers over the sleeve. He fixes the cuff links into his sleeves. One of them is shaped like a rose, the other like a coiled snake with a steely eye glinting up at him. 

"Like Macbeth?" Gin laughs a bit, going back to Aizen to thrust the cufflinks under his nose. 

"'Look like the innocent flower but be the serpent under it'," Aizen intones, a slight smile hovering around his mouth. His eyes don't leave the movement of his brush on his lids in the mirror. 

Gin twists them round until the snake is looking up at him, the rose pointing its minute thorns away from him. 

He slides into the jacket slowly. A snake doesn't put on new skins, they shed old ones. But they were really one and the same, weren't they? Two sides of the same coin. His reflection in the mirror is striking. The rich plum makes his hair glow with an unearthly light, and his skin looks pale and cold without looking sallow and washed out. He levels his best cold stare at the mirror and he stares back at him, a deadened look in shards of ice. Then he grins, mimes drawing his gun. 

The jacket is snug and well fitted to his body to hide the bulge of the holster. He flips the jacket open like they do in westerns and draws the gun in a sweep of plum fabric, faster than a blink. Tapping the barrel against the mirror, he swings around to the dresser and slides open his special drawer. He takes knives and garrote wire and tucks them into the specially made hidden pockets, and pats himself down. 

Aizen gets up from his vanity. His shoulders stretch and pull under the immaculate dress shirt. Gin tosses him his tie and he catches it, eyes tracking it in the mirror. 

He watches him tie it in the mirror. A deep red, almost brown. Aizen's makeup is subtle, bringing out the sharp look in his eyes and the look on his face that reminds Gin of a jaguar in the bush. One of his cufflinks match Gin's. A flower on his left cuff like Gin, but a flat rectangle on the right, polished to a blinding gleam. A mirror? 

Aizen's gun, rarely used, because Gin and the rest of the Espada did the shooting for him. Kyoka Suigetsu. Aizen puts on a black suit jacket, runs his fingers again through his flawlessly styled hair. 

Gin's phone trills in his pocket and he answers without looking. 

"Gin," he says lightly. 

"We're outside," Tousen answers, and behind him he can hear the distinct growl of Grimmjow's voice and the deep clarity of Hallibel's. 

"Perfect as always, Tousen," Gin starts, but he's already hung up. He grins down at his phone and tucks it back into his pocket. He looks to Aizen, who is fastening his watch. "Shall we, boss?"

"We shall." Aizen smiles, beatific. 

He follows Aizen out, like a shadow. 

**

The only time Aizen will let down his guard is when he's on Yamamoto's throne. Or at least, when he's close enough that he can smell it. When he's so sure of his own power that he'll revel in it and slip a little, and that's when Gin will slide a knife between his ribs or toast him with poisoned wine or shoot him with his own gun.

Gin buries his anger and his thirst for vengeance deep inside of him. He only lets it peek out when he's on his way back home from seeing Ran, but it's all wrapped up nice and pretty when he arrives at Aizen's small compound.

The only way to fool Aizen is to make him think that he's changed, and to show him what he expects.

Gin swings around the block from where he's done with killing some poor traitor and taps on the window. Aizen unlocks the doors and Gin gets in, greeting him with a lazy smile and a sardonic little salute.

"Captain," Gin says in greeting, reaching for the console to grab wet wipes and a pack of gum. He can feel Aizen's eyes linger on his pale hands against the dark leather of the car's interior, the self-satisfied arrogance of his mouth at the job well-done. "Hope you weren't waiting long."

"You were quite timely this time around." Aizen says smoothly, looking out the windshield. The car smells faintly of blood and gunfire, then the cloying scent of the wet wipes as he cracks them open.

"Heya, that's it?" Gin mock-pouts, teasing. The adrenaline is still high in his veins and he has a creeping suspicion that Aizen's eyes are flickering over him more than normal. The thrill of seeing a predator bloodied from the hunt, he supposes.

"What do you mean?" A vague, disenchanted smile.

"You're not gonna congratulate me, boss? Tell me how well I did?" He plays right into Aizen's power complex. He likes Gin asking for praise, like he's something that belongs to him.

"I'm certain you already know, Gin." Aizen lids his eyes and looks at him, still smiling. "You're not feeling neglected, are you?"

"Ha. It wouldn't hurt to tell me once in a while, right boss?" He grins.

"That's not all you want, is it?"

Gin levels his gaze with Aizens'. He's left his glasses off this time, and his hair is swept back. He wants to muss it up. His brown eyes are cutting and colder than anything. A challenge.

"You know better than me, boss."

Aizen bites when he kisses. Gin rumbles in his chest and grips his collar, finally putting wrinkles in his spotless image. He musses his hair too, like he wanted. He's a good distraction, a good continuation of the high of the kill.

It's not really that Gin loves him or anything. Being with Aizen is just another short rush of adrenaline, but a means to an end. It's another thread he's sure that Aizen can see and plucks at, and he grows to think that perhaps they are both under the impression that they are using one another without the other's knowledge. He starts to think that maybe Aizen put the idea in his head, but what does it matter? The ending is still the same.

Aizen is voracious and ruthless, and the same kind of person as Gin, although kept under tighter wraps. He just hides it better. Gin wonders what Aizen sees in him to let them continue like this. Maybe the loss of inhibition. Maybe he saw him like some specimen whose reactions he couldn't predict. Aizen's eyes always lingered more than usual after long, bloody missions, hands impatient and brazen around his throat, feeling his pulse in passing over the great life vein, around his waist and down his chest. He was strange and twisted but so was Gin so he indulged. It wasn't that he loved him. It was that he was intrigued and there was always more to see and Gin wanted to lay him bare and pry him apart.

He lived for those brief moments that Aizen lost control. He set sly, tiny traps for Aizen and the heady rush of pleasure as he sprung them was beyond satisfying. The flush in his cheeks after an outwardly innocuous sentence accompanied by a heavy, insinuating glance. The surprised huff of pleasure, the startled moan, the shaking breaths.

Maybe they'll burn out in a grand conflagration, consuming each other in a last, bright bid at life. But if it meant that Aizen went down, then Gin didn't mind going down with him.

**

Hallibel is wearing a lovely evening dress, fitted enough but loose enough to move around in. Gin gets a glimpse of a clever knife sheath around her thigh, but she shifts and it disappears behind the folds of the aqua silk, a quiet whisper. 

Grimmjow has loosened his tie already, dressed in black and silver with little teal accents that match the tattoos under his eyes. He runs a finger along Pantera lovingly, stroking the barrel. Tousen gives them a nod as they slide into the car. Grimmjow revs the engine and merges into traffic, north towards the Kuchiki estate. 

An important sub-family in Seireitei, the Kuchikis have always been a central cog in Yamamoto's plans. The master of the house is very young, having earned the engravings on his gun very young - Senbonzakura, a sleek and elegant gun that Byakuya wields efficiently and discreetly. His cool grey eyes don't seem to waver with anyone but his younger sister, Rukia. 

That's a piece that's chipped off, Gin thinks idly, and he can fit his fingernails under it and peel excruciatingly slow and expose raw skin underneath. A weakness. And something about Rukia was shifty, like she was hiding something.

Hallibel crosses her legs, one of her high heels brushing Gin's shoe. "Weapons checkpoint?" She asks calmly. They are coming up near the house. There are discreet black cars and men hanging out in front of them. 

"We'll pass," Aizen replies smoothly, that small, self-assured smile Gin hates still gracing his lips. The party gets out to be patted down - but it's Izuru and Hinamori, the former one of Gin's favorite underlings from when he wasn't working under Aizen's direct command. He smiles widely at him.

"Izuru! How have you been?" He asks cheerfully. Izuru looks up at him almost shyly, downturned blue eyes making him look dejected. 

"Good, good," he says, waving a metal detector wand over him. There are lights, but no incriminating beeps. His gun lies snug and heavy against his ribs and he bites his cheek. Hinamori is checking Aizen, and there's another dark haired man with scars and tattoos on his face that is chatting amiably with Tousen, Hallibel and Grimmjow waiting behind him. "How are you, Ichimaru-san?"

"Busy, busy" he replies briskly, bouncing on his heels. "Always busy. Sos - Aizen always drives me like a horse." 

"Only because he misbehaves," Aizen calls from where he stands with Hinamori. Poor kid. She looks up at him with stars sparkling in her eyes and he barely even spares her a glance. Her eyes widen and flick between them putting pieces together - and Gin doesn't miss the strange, fractured look on Izuru's either. 

"Ready?" He asks Izuru. 

"Uhm. Ah. Yes. You're all good to go." Izuru bows respectfully and so do Hinamori and the scarred man.  
Gin smiles amiably and puts a hand to the small of Aizen's back on the way to the car again. He looks out the tinted windows just in time to catch the gutted look on Hinamori and Izuru's face. 

The house looms. Gin smiles into his palm, chin propped on his hand. It's almost time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love the chaos of open air markets and i visited tsukiji in tokyo a couple years ago and it was amazing. i ate sushi at a place nearby and i tried sea urchin and .... i did not really like it... i did like watching the chef split it open though!


	5. sweetness

Cherry trees line the walkway up to the house, interspersed with lonely pines, needles wet with the previous night's rainfall. It had stormed hard enough for the cherry blossoms to fall, easily crumpled in the shade of the trees. The walkway has been swept clean, and there are more people ahead of them. Gin can see the wooden gate leading inside the traditional compound, the guards standing by, and the cameras dotted along every couple feet. 

The estate could give Yamamoto's a run for his money. While Yamamoto's place is unassuming yet regal, commanding attention in the way a general does, the Kuchikis' reeks of money. Some of the traditional shoji screens are done with gold leaf silk, and Gin wants so badly to poke a hole in them just to see Byakuya's thin nostrils flare in anger. The entrance is handsomely done, with sparse flowers and vases in the alcoves, their scent just barely rising above the sharp scent of new tatami. The staff bow to them as they come in, and lead them inside into a vast dining room. The screen doors have been opened to give the illusion of one long, endless room, and Gin can see the tables have been shined to a blinding gleam.

Yamamoto is here too, standing beside Byakuya and speaking in low tones. He nods to Aizen's group when they enter, his eyes lingering disapprovingly upon Grimmjow and Hallibel. Gin glimpses Grimmjow's upper lip twitch, threatening to curl, but he seems to think better of it and looks away, sticking his hands in his pockets.

There's a time and place for everything, and by the look on Hallibel's face, it looks like even the jaguar is on a tight leash tonight. They take their seats at the table, between Unohana and Isane from the fourth division and Byakuya and Abarai from the sixth. Unohana gives Aizen a placid smile that he returns, and Isane gives Gin a small nod. He grins back and watches her eyes flinch back. Abarai is even more fun. He's immensely put-off by Gin's bearing and counters it with a gruffness that he tempers for such an event, and it's fun to watch Byakuya glower at him as if in warning. 

Gin turns to face forward. Aizen shifts in his periphery, his eyes as flat and unyielding as river stones. Gin would usually have no patience for these kind of meetings. But now - when he's so close. He has no choice. Aizen must be burning with anticipation with the throne so close. The anticipation must taste like ashes.

The fusuma to the main entrance are shut with the soft hiss of the thin wooden frames gliding over their tracks, and Yamamoto clears his throat.

**

There had been an attempt made on Yamamoto's life, and Aizen had been bright-eyed for the whole day after hearing the news. The adrenaline of seeing a terrible car crash while you were in a car beside it; the dread, the rush of sudden fear and exhilaration at peering over a ledge and seeing bones scattered on the sharp rocks below.

The attempt was covered up, the details sparse and hard to come by, but of course Aizen found out through sources he wouldn't even let Gin know about.

"Who?"

"Some nobody." Aizen said, washing the knife in the sink. A rich cream sauce simmered in the cast iron pot, suffusing the air with its thick, decadent scent.

"You're lying, Aizen-san." Gin laughs. "He's not some nobody - you hate him for trying it first, don't you?"

He'd paused then, wiping the knife on a dry dishtowel and sliding it into the knife block with the dry hiss of metal. There was a faint smile on his face. "I wouldn't say it like that."

"Then how would you say it?" Gin leans forward and swipes a piece of cheese off the cutting board.

Aizen hums, patting his hands dry on the towel and stirring the pot pensively. "Will you set the table?"

He gusts out a dramatic sigh, but slides off the stool at the counter and rifles through the cutlery drawer, setting the heavy silverware at the table: Aizen and Gin, across from each other. Over the low bubbling of the pot, and the sizzle of mushrooms and tomatoes in the pan, Aizen speaks: "He was a lieutenant. Like you."

Gin's ears prick up. "Oh yeah?"

"Yamamoto is almost impossible to get alone." He sounds like he is dreaming, his head tilted up to look at the high ceiling. His eyes are faraway.

"But once you get him, it's as good as shooting fish in a barrel, right Aizen-san?" He pokes through the wine cabinet, humming, and hands him a bottle of chardonnay.

"You're right, Gin." The clatter of the knife again, then the heavy clicking of plates.

Gin bites his lip to stop a sigh from leaking out. That's as much as he will get out of Aizen for tonight. He's too deep in thought, piecing together the Lieutenant's plan with the small cobblings of information that he has. He'll turn it over in his mind for as long as it takes before he is satisfied, running his knowing fingertips over the edges of bevelled stone looking for seams and cracks, filling them himself until he's got a perfect, foolproof plan.

Aizen is pouring two glasses of wine. He hands one to Gin and he takes it, sitting at the stool again.

"He nearly killed his captain to get to Yamamoto." Aizen's voice is low, hypnotic. 

"Did he? That's some dedication." He smiles. 

"Conspirator and a traitor too. Twice over." He holds his glass out to touch it to Gin's. The light twinkle as they click together, the sound as sharp as shards of crystal.

Gin hates wine, he decides right then and there. He hates the bitter splash of it on his tongue. He hates the posturing and the acidity and the traps that waver even more when he drinks. "Cheers!" He says instead, and takes a small sip. He licks his lips and tastes the bitterness of it. "Was he killed?"

"Terribly." Aizen replies, but he doesn't elaborate. His eyes are the color of burnt sugar, disarmingly sweet.

**

Gin licks his lips and tastes blood. His gun is warm from being fired over and over, and the main hall is chaos. He sighs a bit and steps over a body, grimacing as one of his socked feet steps halfway into some pooling blood.

He's gotten separated from Aizen. He would follow Yamamoto, wouldn't he? And where would Yamamoto go?

Away from here. The fact that the first division had guns on them meant that they knew they were coming. Or was it just a courtesy, some insurance that Byakuya had allowed in his halls?

No matter. If he were an old man, the head of the most powerful underground network in Japan, and all of his guards had died at the dinner table, where would he go? The garden, probably. It was open, spacious, and there were plenty of places to hide for an old man, alone.

Gin finds his shoes and slips them on, sitting on the genkan for a moment. The messy part is over - the ugly thrashing when prey doesn't know when to quit, the most exhausting part is done - now all that's left is to find Yamamoto, see him die, and kill Aizen.

He slides the fusuma open and looks back. He pokes an insolent finger through the gold leaf silk just like he wanted, and smirks at the imagined look of horror on Byakuya's face. He steps silently down from the engawa onto the finely manicured lawn, and looks out across the garden.

It's beautiful and sprawling, and he's sure it doesn't look half as haunting in the daytime. The hollow echo of the bamboo spout falling back against its stone. The low murmur of the small stream on the edge of the property that sounds disconcertingly like people talking. The amber glow from the house reflecting off of the paint of the half-moon bridge over the water, and the bamboo stooping over him like sentinels. That strange, quiet eeriness of Japanese structures in the strict order of things is amplified, and Gin can easily see Byakuya sweeping through the eaves of the trees, but it suits Aizen better. Camouflage and quiet strength. The menace of his bearing and things hidden and unseen. 

There's a quiet path that winds its way into a small grove of trees, paved with flat stones. It's dotted with blood. He slips off his shoes so they don't click against the stones, and pads silently across them to a small clearing, drawing his gun.

It is like the opening scene of some macabre play, with the trees parting like curtains. Yamamoto's body sprawls across the grass, and Aizen stands over him out of the beam of moonlight that falls over the kumicho's body. He can't see his face. His suit is still uncreased and perfect.

Or is it? Gin crouches, and sees a spot of blood on the sleeve. His own? 

"Is that you, Gin?" Aizen says, straightening and turning slightly to look. He has a half-smile on his face, the one Gin hates.

"Who else, boss?" He says cheerily. "It's always me."

He levels his gun and shoots.

**

What did he take? Rangiku's parents, her home, Gin's only family. He took Gin too, spirited him away from his only tether and into the underground, and fed him pomegranates and blood until he wasn't able to leave.

**

Aizen shoots too.

With a terrible sort of symmetry there's the flash of a gun being drawn and another clipped bark of the muzzle, then the steady warmth over his ribs that tells him that he has been shot and is bleeding.

Aizen's propped against a tree, his gun hanging by his knee. How many shots in a magazine? How many of those had he emptied into Yamamoto?

It's much too warm for a summer night. The moon is high in the sky, bloated and yellow, and the wind is sluggish and swipes lazily through his hair. Gin can see flickers of small bugs at the edge of his vision, and he doesn't quite remember sitting down but he must have? A moth lights on his finger, folding its wings pensively before flitting away.

"Traitor, twice over." Aizen's voice comes, but maybe it's just a memory.

Gin raises his gun again and aims at Aizen but he's gone, the clearing empty except for the moths and Yamamoto's body. His panting is loud in the night. He takes off his jacket with shaking hands and balls it up, pressing it to his ribs approximately where it hurts the most, the pain radiating out in a dull corona of heat.

He draws in a wheezing breath and staggers to his feet. The grass looks slick. Gin picks his way back onto the stone path and walks back towards the house, his socks wet with something. The estate is still and quiet. 

How far to the street? He walks slowly, steadying himself against the thin frames of the sliding doors. He could snap them like the bones of some bird, he thinks idly. He thinks about how some of Hallibel's people had rushed past the weapons checkpoint as soon as the doors had closed, and wonders if Izuru was hurt. Or dead.

He licks his lips and tastes blood so he licks them again and tightens the grip he has on his jacket. He makes it to the genkan and then out the door, and realizes that he has no shoes. Oh well. He walks down the raked gravel of the walkway and towards the gates of the estate, blood dropping steadily onto the stones behind him. His arms are getting weaker, he thinks. He might have dropped his gun halfway through the estate. He can hear his own breathing, ragged and unhealthy.

There's something strange hovering by the gates, ghostly white in the half-light. He frowns, and makes to get off the well-lit path but the thing waves something.

"Hey! Hurry and open the gates, I'm late! Security is shit, so I walked -" the man pauses, and his waving arm drops.

Gin stops in his tracks and looks past the wrought iron bars of the gate, bewildered. "Toshinobu?"

"Who -?" The man frowns, but is pushed aside by someone familiar.

“Gin?" Rangiku exclaims wondrously, dazed. Is it really her? The glint of gold around her neck and falling around her shoulders, the beauty mark by her mouth - there's the gleam of light, and Gin squints into the flashlight of the phone raking over him. "Gin!"

"Heya, Ran," Gin smiles wanly. He steadies himself with a hand against the bars. "I'm gonna sit."

She's saying something, but it washes over Gin in a dull wave of sound. He sits heavily against the stone column and prods clumsy fingers around his jacket.

"You're bleeding," Rangiku is saying frantically. Toshinobu is standing away, calling someone on his phone - ambulance? Police? - and then dialing numbers again and again.

"Kumicho's dead," Gin says, and Hitsugaya turns to face him with pale and angry eyes. 

"You killed him?" His phone hangs limp in his hand, and Gin can hear the dull buzz of the dial tone from here.

"In a sense," he says softly. His head feels very light. Dangerously light. He wants to lie down and sleep more than anything, maybe see Chico again, maybe apologize to Rangiku once more before - before?

Rangiku is crying, reaching past the bars to touch his hands and his wrists, his face. Gin stares up at the wide sky, unhindered by trees and buildings. There are few stars from being too close to the city, but he likes the open air of it, the blank navy and grey canvas.

"Really," Gin murmurs, "why'd you have to come here, Ran?"

"Isn't it obvious?" She grits out.

Gin coughs a little. "I think I did it, Ran." He says faintly.

She's crying harder now, pressing herself to the bars to press her own jacket to his ribs but he doesn't feel it all that much anymore.

"Don't cry," he says quietly. He takes her hand and squeezes, wanting to be bracing, something that doesn’t rip itself out from under her feet when she needs him most. His vision vignettes and stutters. The wide sky above him and the too-warm summer air, and Rangiku's warm fingers in his ever-cool ones. The column of smoke rising through the air, the sticky-sweetness of the popsicle melting down his thumb, blood in his mouth and gold over his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's it folks, thanks for sticking around and reading it all the way through! i think this is one of my longer works and honestly it was quite a journey... i hope you liked it! thanks again to my beta reader @gxlden to whom i owe my life and more, and of course a huge thank you to my readers as well. 
> 
> hmm.... i do want to make this a series ..... or at least have a second fic exploring more of gin and kira's relationship ... please keep an eye out for that soon; i'll be in your care!
> 
> @virevolteur on tumblr!


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